


Towards A Swarm of Bees

by ninaunn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Dragon Age Rare Pair Exchange, Explosions, F/F, Romance, The Black Emporium Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 06:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninaunn/pseuds/ninaunn
Summary: “Watch out there,” Sera said, and licked her thumb to smear it over Dagna’s cheek. “You left some explosion on you.”“Oh,” Dagna found it hard to find words at this long and lanky wild thing now leaned over her, face close and smirking so. Was her hair singed again, or did she smell like sulphur?Ancestors, Dagna hoped not





	Towards A Swarm of Bees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alekth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekth/gifts).



\--

 _\- Hear they’re bringing in some bint who can make sharp stuff sparkle. Sounds good if it’s not magic shite._

_\- Spoilers, its magic shite. Didn’t expect it to be dwarfy magic shite though. (A drawing of Sera with her tongue out)_

\--

Sera was not magical.

Dagna has known magical girls; Kinloch Hold had housed a number of them. 

They were wonderful too; the swish of robes against stone, the tapping of quills against ink-pots. Hair braided back in simple designs that suggested modesty and submissiveness. Quick fingers pulling magic from the air.

And other things.

Amell was always the one to joke lewdly as such. He had given Dagna so much shit for her crush on Surana. Her elbow had grown to reflexively jab at the git’s ribs whenever the elven mage entered the room; Dagna’s cheeks had always blown up red at the sight of her. Surly even the Templers were aware of her ridiculous crush.

But Surana had always shrugged off the comments and snickers with an airy grace that Dagna had envied. Tossed her hair at Amell before launching into a passionate explanation of the latest magical treatise from Orlais, which had Dagna entranced like an eager child. 

Dagna did not know what became of Surana after everything. Or Amell for that matter, and any number of other friends and acquaintances she’d made at the Fereldan Circle before the war.

She hoped they were safe.

But, Sera was not a magical girl. 

Oh, she knew plenty of tricks. No-one doubted that, but when Sera made a coin disappear, it’s slight of hand. If she breathed fire, it was with liquor and a match, and more frequent after imbibing the former.

“Creepy,” the Red Jenny shuddered on the rare occasion that brought her to the Undercroft for some tinkering.

Not taking her eyes of the glimmer of lyrium as it crept along the rune grooves, Dagna huffed. Her hands, sweaty beneath thick hide and padding, would stay steady where she poured.

“Beautiful,” was her automatic rebuttal.

And Sera would audibly roll her eyes and rock the chair she was perched on.

“Just don’t get too close,” replied Sera in a sing-song voice, “else you might magic off that pretty nose of yours off.”

“Great brilliance requires great risk!” Dagna chirped back, as the lyrium swam and settled into magically treated stone. 

To which Sera responded noisily and with little regard to manners.

\--

_\- Dwarfy says she’s an Arcanist. I want to boop her nose. Bad idea?_

_\- Get book. (Scratched out) No book? Dorian useless. Armour looks flashy though._

\--

No, Sera worried about magic, and feared for Dagna and her occupation with it. 

Not a terribly hard thing to discern, and later she would wonder why then Sera had allowed such an attachment between them to grow.

Before that though, during those first few exciting, uncertain months at Skyhold, Dagna was more concerned with the certainty that she’d be kicked out at any minute and so determined to prove herself. Cracks grew between the callouses of her overworked hands and sleep starvation stained the skin under her eyes, but there was so much more to do.

Old Harritt urged her to rest regularly, but Dagna had to show them all she was worth the trouble taken to rescue her from Tantervale. Prove her father wrong. Somehow fix the broken thing that had become the Circle.

And Sera-

Sera had made her laugh.

She’d lost track of time, absorbed by some crafting, and wandered up from the Undercroft in search of sustenance. Some human fancy-pants had taken one look at her dazed and frazzled state and lifted a delighted sneer whilst commenting loudly to her companion about the quality of the help.

Dagna had scrunched up her nose and poked out her tongue.

Sera had poured kitchen waste all over the noble’s pretty dress. 

That was pretty magical.

Or later, at the Herald’s Rest, when Harding had dragged her up to join the surface dwarf darts team. 

“Watch out there,” Sera said, and licked her thumb to smear it over Dagna’s cheek. “You left some explosion on you.”

“Oh,” Dagna found it hard to find words at this long and lanky wild thing now leaned over her, face close and smirking so. Was her hair singed again, or did she smell like sulphur? Ancestors, Dagna hoped not. 

“Remember to be careful, yeah?” And Sera had bit her self-same thumb that absolutely did not help the situation with the words. 

“But I so nearly got that spirit enchantment to stick!” Which, once Dagna said it out loud, sounded silly and trite. Sera had giggled and wandered away.

Ancestors help her. 

\--

_\- Ups: Fire arrows look sick and make baddies scream. (A drawing of stick figures on fire)_

_\- Downs: Enchanted stuff feels looks weird._

_\- Maybe useful for bothering Viv-sparkle-butt?_

\--

The Inquisitor always gave Dagna such interesting projects. How she managed to find so many obscure schematics scattered all across Thedas was a puzzle even the Ancestors probably had no answer for. Dagna did not put too much thought into solving that question; the Inquisitor’s finds gave her too many new ideas.

And yet Sera, who by all accounts was a self-taught alchemist, seemed to pull inspiration them from thin air. It was infuriating and inspired, and Dagna had doubled down to her workbook and sketches to try and match the creative quickening of Sera’s mind.

That jar of bees was ingenious.

Maybe she could come up with something that Sera would admire? Ancestors knew that would be a task and half; there was no mystery to the archer’s wariness of Dagna’s craft.

So, it would have to be incredible enough to squash Sera’s dislike of magic. Dagna did a lot of research; into arrows, into tricks and traps. Into Sera. Slowly, her project began taking shape. The concept alone took months to refine the schematics, let alone build the cursed thing.

In the meantime, she managed to convince Sera to test run some of her superior enchantments. 

It took a few turns; a few wide-eyed, pleading looks and forlorn expressions. A dare or two. If there was one thing Sera loved, it was a spectacle, and Dagna put extra effort into making the after-effects of enchanted weapons as spectacular as possible.

The day that Sera stormed into the Undercroft and threw her latest bow onto the workbench, demanding that Dagna make it extra awesome for the next bloody mission, was the day her heart leapt to the Stone and Dagna knew she was besotted.

\--

_\- Shitballs. Crap. Fade. Arse. Demons. Need drink._

_\- (Scratched out)_

_\- (More scratched out)_

_\- Found a drinking buddy??_

\--

Her work continued.

Long enough for things to go pear-shaped at Adamant Fortress at any rate, an event that left Sera spitting and cursing with a fury and fear that Dagna had never seen before. 

“Little empty piss-shitting things!” Ale slopped over the edges of Sera’s tankard as she gesticulated wildly. The whites of her eyes showed clear.

Dagna nodded, picking at the edges of her nails as her brain ran over tiny contraption parts and how they fit together. 

“It’s stupid, yeah?” Sera continued. Other bar patrons around them seemed to lean away, but the Red Jenny paid them no mind. “The Fade’s not even friggen real!”

“It’s real enough to those who make it,” Dagna muttered, taking a sip from her own ale. Surana had told her that once, a long time ago. The tips of her ears had twitched, smile shy as she had tried to explain what it was like to dream.

Sometimes Dagna hated being a dwarf. Magic came from the Fade, came from sleep in a way she would never have access to. 

Dagna couldn’t draw on the Fade like a mage could, couldn’t dream it. But she could see the ties of it in the lyrium she shaped. Feel the soft hum that sometimes lingered in her bones. That tried to call her home like a half remembered memory.

The look her statement provoked in Sera was narrow and angry.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” Sera repeated, slamming her tankard loudly down on the sticky bar-top. “It’s a mess. It’s not right and real like us, here in this shite bar, drinking shite drink, and having this shite conversation!”

Somewhere nearby, Corbot snorted.

Dagna chewed her bottom lip, worrying over the fevered denial in Sera’s anger. Working through the chinks and links she knew there to be between the Fade and waking world. How to explain it in a way that would take that cold dread from Sera’s heart.

“I should go,” was what she ended up saying. Stupid, useless words. “Seeing as its all shite anyway.”

And even that came out wrong; a bit bitter and hurt and Dagna bit her lip again as Sera’s brows furrowed. 

Ah well, Dagna thought to herself, at least she could get some more work done. Mayhap when it was finished, Sera would not feel so afraid. Dagna dusted her trousers and plopped off the too high bar-stool.

A thin, bony hand snapped out to grab her sleeve.

“Where‘re you going?” Sera’s eyes were wide and panicked, lips wet and trembling.

Dagna blinked.

“Back to work,” she said. “World doesn’t fix itself from wishful thinking.”

And suddenly, Sera had grabbed her cheeks with both hands and planted on her mouth the most enthusiastic, beery kiss of Dagna’s entire existence.

“I’m real,” Sera had said again, when she pulled away. Dagna’s hands flexed uselessly and everything felt far too hot. “We’re real, the rest is all rubbishy nonsense that can go die.” 

Did her breath seem a little scarce?

“Um,” articulated Dagna.

“Piss,” iterated Sera, and promptly fell over sideways, out cold.

Pretty magical, as first kisses went.

\--

_\- Stocked up on bees, Winter Palace should be full of rich shits in need of an arrow. Or bees._

_\- I miss Widdles. I’m calling her Widdles now. (Scribbled out) Think she likes (scribbled out) it._

\--

Dagna’s project continued. So did the kisses, which was lovely. A bit of a distraction, if Dagna was honest, but also one she allowed herself. At the least, Sera was very creative. In lots of useful ways. 

At the least, the Inquisitor did not seem likely to boot her out on a whim, and Dagna began to think, maybe, she was approaching a kind of happy.

So, the world continued to work itself into a tizzy, with occasional assistance from the Fade. Only sometimes though. What titbits she overheard over the brewing civil war in Orlais gave her a quiet worry, for it all seemed so vast and stretched out and unfixable. Of course the sky is broken, they would have said in Orzammer. 

Then came the business with the Empress at the Winter Palace, which left Skyhold very quiet and empty. Bereft.

Which was good, as it allowed Dagna the space to test some of her project’s prototypes with little chance of spoiling the surprise. Also, her grand experiment to peer through the Veil was much easier to work on without Leliana of Cullen peering worriedly over her shoulder. At least the mages in the Tower seemed enthusiastic about helping.

So she was busy. Very busy.

She also thought about Sera’s kisses. Missed her ridiculous laugh echoing through the fortress, normally chased by curses. 

But, Dagna got a lot of work done.

\--

_\- BEST GIFT EVER! (A drawing of Sera with a bow and lots of explosions. And hearts)_

\--

“I don’t get it,” Sera stated on her return, holding the lyrium etched arrow with two ginger hands.

“Get what?” It was very hard not to hop from one foot to the other, still a little giddy from the circles Sera had spun her upon bursting into the Undercroft.

“What’s it do?”

Ah, sometimes Dagna forgot that not everyone was fluent in the ebb of flow of runes.

A curl of doubt moved in her belly, and Dagna wondered if she’d gotten everything wrong again. She wasn’t the best at these kinds of things, and certainly more practise at kissing was needed, but maybe she’d over considered things as they were between them.

Sera had been away a long time at the Winter Palace, after all. Maybe she’d found someone more fun? Less magical?

Grin strained as it stretched over her cheeks, Dagna planted her hands on her hips and held her head high.

“It explodes things!”

The bug-eyed expression of Sera gawping was the most beautiful, satisfying thing Dagna had ever crafted. Then came that sly, calculating look that preceded the very best of schemes. It promised great things.

“How much of an explosion?” 

“Well,” Dagna inhaled. “You know that large blast stain in the courtyard by the stables that had Leliana all curious and Josephine in a tizz?”

In retrospect, exploding things nearby large, easily spooked animals was not a good idea. She still owed the Horse Master for that chaos. 

“No!” Sera exclaimed, but a gleeful smile marked her delight. Dagna felt her heart skip and her head spin.

“Yup!”

“Widdles, you are the best!” Throwing up her hands, Sera made to step forward, only to falter when Dagna stepped back, arms raised in warning.

“Maybe put the highly explosive arrow down first.” 

That made Sera pause, but only for a moment.

“Nah.”

\--

_\- Ask Bull best way to poke smelly vints full of holes. (A drawing of Sera stabbing something with arrows)_

 _\- Steal something nice for the Jenny._

\--

Contrary to her father’s opinion, Dagna was not prone to making a fuss. Really, so long as people left her alone to do her work, she’s perfectly fine.

Which is why when she received the first ornately written letter, fixed with the Black Chantry wax seal and containing what was essentially a death threat, she simply burnt it. It was not the first time Dagna’s work had earned the ire of those who thought they knew better.

She didn’t take note of the next one either, or the next. Not until the Sera stormed into the Undercroft and began shouting.

“You’re meant to tell me when arse-licking bucket-heads make stabby stabs at you and your button nose!” Sera’s hands were twisted in Dagna’s collar, her face turning an alarming shade of red. Over her shoulder, Harritt hovered awkward and unsure. “Not wait until Red Jenny tells me they’re tripping on our friggen doorstep to come kill you!”

Her sight was going wobbly from Sera’s shaking, but some of the endless line of angry words broke into comprehension.

“Is this about the Tevinter assassins?” 

Sera dropped her hands and stepped back, teeth bared.

“Yes,” she shrieked, before lobbing a book right at Dagna’s head. Where it was procured from was anybody’s guess.

It missed; everyone always aimed too high.

“Sorry,” Dagna squeaked, peeking up from the shield of her arms. “I sort of forgot?”

“Forgot!” Sera’s hands flashed up, but it’s only to tear at tuffs of her hair. “Forget cookies, or your left shoe, not stupid vints coming to kill you!” 

“I had work to do!” And really, this was a bit of an overreaction. Dagna’s business was her own, if worse came to worse she could deal with a few mage hunters grumpy that she’d nicked a magic tome or two.

Not that she wasn’t touched; Dagna just never supposed that Sera would want to know about such things.

Because Sera’s eyes were wet and brimful, even as she still spat curses. The knuckles on her fists were moon-white and caused both Dagna’s heart and her disgruntlement to sink. 

“Hey there,” she soothed, stepping towards her lanky lover. “It’s ok, I had a plan.”

“You didn’t even tell Inky, did you?” Her voice is equal parts furious and distraught. It was a discomforting combination. 

Dagna shrugged, or tried to. 

“Why would I?” No one’s ever really had her back before. Only the Warden, and that was more out of kindness than care. A one-time thing. Even once she’d gotten to Kinloch Hold, it had been up to her to fight for every scrap of knowledge and recognition and research. 

And yet, Sera was still looking at her with those eyes, and that frowny, heart-breaking expression.

“Because she’s real good at killing things. Especially vints.” Sera stepped forward again, except this time she only placed her hands on Dagna’s shoulders. “Vints who want to make you dead!” 

“Yes?” Dagna bit her bottom lip. “So am I?”

But that expression remained on Sera’s face, those tears welling in her eyes and Dagna couldn’t stand it. Not on her account.

“Alright,” she conceded with a nod. “I’ll ask the Inquisitor for help. Will that make you feel better?”

Sera sniffed, and responded with a fierce embrace that was all pointy elbows and gangly limbs. Dagna did not mind, she could hear her lover’s rapid heartbeat pressed this close. She returned the hug as best she could.

\--

_\- She’s not a mage, even if (scribbled out)._

_\- No creepy demon’s taken her noggin and twisting her real. No one._

\--

“Just ‘cause you’ve a fair hand at it, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Sera huffs, swinging her long legs over the edge of the Herald’s Rest roof.

Taking the time to chew her muffin, Dagna blinked up at the warmth of the morning sun. Tried to choose her words, even though neither of them had ever been particularly good at that.

“You know the only reason I can make you things that boom is because of magic?” Wiping the crumbs from the corner of her mouth, Dagna shot a sly glance at the elf beside her.

True to form, Sera snorted, nose scrunched up like she smelt sulfur. She took another ungainly bite from her own muffin.

“Yeah,” Sera continued, “but, that’s not _magic_ magic.”

Dagna frowned. Below them, the Bull’s Chargers wrestled with one another in the training ring, a small crowd gathering to watch the show. Somewhere behind them a raven crowed.

“How do you mean?” It felt like a strange thing to ask, an uneasy taste on the back of her tongue.

Sure enough, Sera raised a quizzical brow at the question. Inhaling, she scrubbed her face with the back of her hand.

“Well,” she began. “You don’t just wiggle your fingers and sparks fly.”

Her long fingers flexed and bent in a ridiculous imitation that was both comical and lewd.

Dagna found her eyes narrow even as the colour rose to her already ruddy cheeks. A part of her whispered, if Dagna could learn magic, she would. In a heartbeat. A more secret part of her hummed that maybe that was not an impossible thing.

But, those thoughts were deep in the dark cavern of her mind. Now, in this moment, there was sun on her skin and breakfast in her belly and a laugh forming at the corner of Dagna’s mouth. It banished all deeper thoughts to slumber.

“Oh?” She blinked, a look of feigned innocence turning sly. “I might do.”

Sera scoffed.

“Not that I’ve seen,” declared the Red Jenny, almost defiant.

Scooting closer, Dagna bumped at Sera’s arm with her shoulder. A very bold notion bubbled in her chest, and she leant forward in her best attempt at a sultry wink.

“Watch me closely then?” Dagna suggested.

Sera gaped, but not for long. Then she whooped in loud joy, reaching out to tangle their fingers together. The press of their palms together, her nose against Dagna’s cheek, it all felt bright and sparkling and like the sun would never set.

“Well,” smirked Sera, freckles stark across her cheeks. “Prove me a town crier than.”

Whatever that conversation might have been, turned down a more delightful path.

\--

_\- Book. Learn dwarf stuff for her. It's all small! (Sketch of Sera as a giant, Dagna laughing on her shoulder)_

_\- Are there dwarfy dwarves like there are elfy elves? Ask Varric._

\--

It’d been years since Inquisition agents plucked her up from obscurity outside the Tantervale, and Dagna is still shaken at the regard its people seem to place in her.

Not just regard; as the official Arcanist she’s had a great many requests and commissions, letters seeking advice and consultation from all over Thedas. Hers is a specialised skillset that is valued in times of war. Worthy.

And still, to know of the fanfare the Inquisitor sent to Orzammer, to her reluctant father, was a little overwhelming. Nightingale’s report back was almost comical. 

“It’s funny,” she mentioned to Sera whilst perusing the report, belly down on the window-seat. “I didn’t think I needed his approval anymore.”

“What?” The arrow that Sera had balancing on the tip of one finger tipped to one side and fell.

“My father,” Danga explained, turning the parchment over in her hand. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he spat to see the spectacle.”

“A bag of bones like that not worth it, love,” hummed Sera, one arm tucked under her head as she twirled the arrow about her fingers. “Forward’s the way to go. No point in looking over your shoulder.”

“I suppose.”

Sera sighed, exasperated, and rolled to her side.

“You say it like that,” the archer scowled, “and I’ll get thinking you give two more shits more about what that old coot thinks than what he’s worth.”

“No!” Dagna looked up, startled at Sera’s words even as she tried to describe her own sentiment. “It just…I still miss him, sometimes.”

How long was Janar’s beard now, Dagna wondered, did anyone help him braid it as was proper, now that his eyesight was failing? She imagined the burning furnace of his forge, hot and bright against the gloom of Orzammer. The well-tended tools set to the walls, the tang of iron in the air.

“Why?” The face Sera pulled was not a flattering one.

“He’s my father.”

“So what?” Grabbing another cushion to push herself up on, Sera cupped her chin with one hand. “People act like names and family are solid things that matter. They only matter if they are worth something. So, why does he still matter to you?”

That was an interesting question, and in the interest of honesty, Dagna had to admit to avoiding it. Maybe she had done wrong in asking the Inquisitor to intercede in a family matter, but, Ancestors, she’d just wanted to be acknowledged by something from her past. Even if it was just to show how far she’d come.

“I guess, he played a part in how I became me,” Dagna started, voice tight and wavering. The window-bench suddenly felt far too large and foreign for her unfamiliar form. “It wasn’t always bad. We were happy once.”

The corners of Sera’s eyes tightened, ears twitching ever so slightly out from her unruly hair.

“Pfft,” she spat with real rancour. “You made yourself into you. No-one else.”

“Well, that’s not true at all.”

Sera frowned and Dagna found that both of them, it seemed, had at last encountered a truth incompatible to the other. For all the time taken, its arrival had crept up soon and sudden. They stared at each other from across the solarium, almost confused in their opposition.

Until Sera broke the tableau, scoffing loudly as she flopped onto her back. 

“Whatever, Widdles. Your knickers to get twisted over.”

Dagna looked down and away, only to find that in the tension, she’d crumpled the report. Her jaw set.

It was true, Dagna thought. Knew. She would not be the acarnist she was today without all the care and pride instilled by Janar’s devotion to smithing. Never mind that she had not become the heir he’d intended to craft, or that he’d failed to be the father she’d needed. It would be dishonest simply write off all the ways he’d shaped her. The good and the bad.

Across the room, Sera did not look at her, mouth set in a stubborn line. Sera, who tried so hard not to let the past touch her, who didn’t think that it was her hurt to keep.

Sera, who fought against the world to remind it that permanence was arbitrary. Who nonetheless preferred the evil she knew than a greater horror.

Maybe that was wisdom, and Dagna should let the Stone go once and for all. 

And yet, as the Shaperate whispered: one can take the dwarf from the stone, but you cannot take the stone from the dwarf.

This was known.

\--

_\- Saving the world soon. Weird. I will kick Coryphy-tit in every ball he has._

_\- Skyhold’ll be safe. Nice big walls (scratched out)_

_-Good to be doing it. Hope (scratched out)_

_\- Piss._

\--

Since the business with the ancient elven temple, Dagna had barely a moment to spare. She had been now over two years at Skyhold. Safe behind its mountains, away from the whims and uncertainties of politics. It was almost easy to forget that a battle was building with all the work asked of her.

Not really, but Dagna had played at being carefree. Levity was easier to wear than worry, especially when each mission set by the Inquisitor and her companions brought them home wearier and worn each time.

Dagna did not like seeing Sera so tired.

But it seemed at last that their doom was upon them, and Dagna’s arms ached from wielding a hammer and anvil. Her eyes stung from the fine detail of inscribing runes, and ever the smell of popped ozone and burnt lyrium clung to her skin no matter how hard she scrubbed.

She crafted many more explosive arrows for Sera, whenever there was time to spare between outfitting the Inquisition and working to find some miraculous discovery to save them. 

And then the battle horn was blown, the heraldry raised and the Inquisition moved out to finally face their undead foe.

“So,” Sera had started.

“There’s five more in here,” Dagna instructed, handing over a quiver full of specialised exploding arrows. Her eyes darted over the enchantments, checking again and again what she had wrote there. “I hadn’t much time, so the kick might be less impressive. Keep them strapped down, the last thing you want is for them to go off in your quiver.”

Scrunching up her nose, Sera took the proffered quiver and dutifully strapped it to her side. 

“Leave it be,” she chided when Dagna insisted on checking the buckles. “You’re acting like a goose.”

Sniffing, Dagna patted Sera’s side for surety, marking the wretched plaid of her tunic, the etching on her belts.

“At least,” she said in a voice that was mostly even, “let me check the runes on your breast-plate.”

“I’d rather you check out my tits,” shot back Sera without a stumble.

Dagna sniffed again, and could not bring herself to meet her lover’s eyes. Her throat was hard, and she swallowed once, twice before finally making it clear enough for speech.

“I can do that after, so long as-“ Dagna fought for her words. Blinked rapidly at the heat in her eyes. “So long as-“

It was no good. Her voice croaked and the tears poured forth like a fountain down her cheeks. Dagna hiccupped as her hands fell down useless to her sides as the last of her restraint was washed away.

“Oh no, Widdles,” Sera started, voice high-pitched with shock. “Don’t cry. It’s catching.”

Long hands patted gently, frantically at her shoulders, chest, cheeks and hair. All Dagna could do was shake her head as another sob erupted from her chest. 

“S-sorry,” she all but wailed. “I just can’t stop thinking about if-if you got hurt while I’m not there.”

And then her arms moved up, Dagna’s wide, rough hands coming to fit neatly against Sera’s hips. When she pulled, the archer came without a fight, letting her forehead press against the aforementioned breast-plate. Sera’s knees bumped against Dagna’s thighs and wiry arms found their familiar perch along Dagna’s shoulders. She felt the press of a kiss to her hair.

“Well, I’m not being bothered by it either,” came Sera’s choked declaration. Hands flexed where they held each other. “Not Cory-phlegm and his stupid dragon. Not of arsing demons, and especially not my Widdles in the thick of it.”

“I should be going with you!” Dagna’s entire face was hot with salt water, and her fingers ached from clutching at leather and cloth. “Don’t die, Sera. Please come back.”

“Oh, piss it.”

They were both crying then, both clutching with whatever was in grasp. Dagna lifted her chin and Sera bent her head, and there were wet, messy kisses smeared across lips and cheeks and noses and jaws.

“Inky’s got it sorted,” Sera told her, fingers winding through the knots of Dagna’s braid. Her own mouth was pressed to the Red Jenny’s clavicle, thick arms tight around her lithe body.

“Promise?” Dagna whimpered, half blind from fear and worry.

“Yeah,” Sera vowed, snuffling softly against her hair. “Promise.” 

\--

_\- Sera and Lady Adaar Importius Fnord are big bloody heroes._

_(A drawing of Sera and Adaar raising bottles while riding a high dragon that breathes flaming sharks? Also the dragon farted a cloud that looks like Corypheus.)_

_\- Now to find my Widdles._

\--

There was an obscene amount of liquor at the celebrations that followed. It was almost alarming, more-so given the massive amounts of participants in said celebrations. The entire fortress was filled to the brim with people eager to taste one small part of victory. 

The sun had barely touched the horizon, and already the party seemed to be in full swing.

Harritt and Dagna had both been sure to bolt the door to the Undercroft tightly shut; who knew what kind of trouble some inebriated bone-head could get into down there.

Well, Dagna did, which was why she triple checked the locks before venturing up to the Great Hall.

It was so noisy.

It was amazing.

Dagna shifted the strap of the satchel she carried, careful as she dodged through the crowded hall. One wrong bump would likely ruin the entire evening for everyone, much less her. Fireworks were tricky like that. 

But, she was running late. Sure the Inquisitor had said that whatever light display Dagna could manage would be adequate, but this was a celebration. And Ambassador Josephine had later taken her aside with specific instructions to make it spectacular.

By the Ancestors, it would be. Dagna just had to get these last poppers to the top of the Mage Tower in one piece.

At the very least, when Dagna reached the place where the fireworks were set up, they seemed untouched. The enchanter she’d asked to watch over it was giggling to a companion over a flagon of wine. Smiling, she waved them off, kneeling to sort through the fuses and shells. The two lovers called blessings as they clambered down the ladder.

Orange touched the stonework of Skyhold as the last of the setting sun slipped behind the surrounding mountains. Even through the sky-scar, stars could be seen peeking into view.

Biting her lip, straightened out the fuses, checking the coded colours tapes that marked their order. If all went well, she’d give the entire Frostbacks a show that would eclipse the terror of the Breach with wonder.

This last thing she could do for the Inquisition. 

Behind her, a whining creak sounded, followed by the slam of the trap door flipping open.

“Unless you’re here to help, kindly leave,” Dagna called good naturedly over her shoulder. “I’ve a lot to prepare.”

“I bet you do,” came the cheeky response. Dagna spun in delight to see Sera propped over the edge of the trapdoor, and irrepressible smirk on her face. 

“Well,” Dagna laughed, heart aflutter. “I’ll make an exception for you.”

“I bet you will!”

With that, Sera clambered up onto the battlement fully, lugging up her own satchel bulging with pastries, tarts and treats. As well as one or two pilfered bottles of the Inquisitors finest liquor.

Sitting back on her heels, Dagna accepted the kiss Sera dropped to her brow with a smile.

“I was beginning to worry you’d miss it.”

“Miss my Widdle setting of the biggest flash bang show the world has seen ever?” exclaimed the archer as she settled on the ground beside her. “Fat chance of that.”

“It won’t be long now,” said Dagna by way of response, gaze turning from the skyline to the fortress. She licked her thumb and tested the wind.

Rummaging in her bag of treats, Sera dumped a mince-pie in Dagna’s lap, before cramming another into her own mouth. Below, music and cheer wafted up from crowded courtyard, already lit by coloured paper lanterns and mage lights.

They did not say much as the last of the daylight faded. Did not need to. Both of them had cried enough upon the Inquisition’s return from victory. Though despite Sera’s fervent denial, Dagna suspects she sobbed louder. All that excess of emotion had left them comfortable now, easy in their relief. 

Tomorrow's problems would come, but tonight it was enough to have Sera’s warmth leaning in at her side, her happy humming floating in the evening air.

“I love you,” Dagna let slip, even as her hands continued to work. 

She felt Sera twitch, pause, and then reach one arm up to loop over her shoulders. Her song devolved into a happy chuckle.

“Oh Widdle,” Sera replied, head resting on her shoulder, “you are the bee’s knees.”

An ungainly snort erupted from Dagna’s nose, but she did not mind too much. At the entrance to the Great Hall, a green flame sparked to life; the signal at last.

Turning in her seat, Dagna grinned at her lover.

Sera was not magical, and neither was Dagna. Not really, not yet, but tonight, they would burn brighter than any spell or summoning.

“Hey,” Dagna flicked on the small flame from her lighter and let it glow between them. “Want to light a fire in the sky?” 

Sera’s eyes lit up, alive and fierce and unafraid.

“Do I ever!”

And so they did.

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! It was a close one but I got it done on time! Sera and Dagna are both so interesting, the more I wrote, the more interesting facets to their relationship I wanted to explore.
> 
> Thanks alekth for such a fun prompt, hope you like it!!


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